


bringing down the walls

by inexhaustible



Category: DAYS (Anime & Manga)
Genre: Getting Together, Implied/Referenced Homophobia, M/M, Pining, background kazatsuku + shibakimi, featuring: rapidly decreasing quality of writing, honestly i have never written a coherent word in my life
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-02-03
Updated: 2017-02-03
Packaged: 2018-09-21 17:33:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,699
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9559766
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/inexhaustible/pseuds/inexhaustible
Summary: That year – three years after he first meets Mizuki – Kaoru runs into Mizuki at the hanabi festival, and all of Kaoru’s carefully constructed walls start going to shit.





	

**Author's Note:**

> @tsukujin on tumblr  
> look, i dont know what i'm doing with my life lmao
> 
> comments + kudos are my sustenance and lifeblood.  
> thanks to the dear hunter for not only providing me w/ the title, off old demons, but also for fueling this entire writing process
> 
> shibakimi + honestly general days discord chat w/a bunch of the days writers:  
> https://discord.gg/6WvZdqr

The first time Kaoru meets Mizuki, he’s a wobbly first year on Seiseki’s team. Kaoru’s already Sakuragi’s ace, years of experience leading him to surpass even the captain in technical skill. 

Mizuki misses pass after pass, getting in his own teammates’ way, but there’s a certain spark in his eyes that makes Kaoru wonder. Sakuragi loses to Seiseki by a slim margin, and even though his team’s won, Mizuki purses his lips, clenching his fists by his side.  _ He knows he’s only in the way.  _

His teammates rally together for a triumphant cheer, and Kaoru notes the way Mizuki is excluded with a frown, upperclassmen giving him a look before shouldering him aside. 

He’s slender, with naturally olive skin and a piercing gaze. He’s not particularly eye-catching then, with narrow eyes and a lanky build, but – something about him sticks out to Kaoru, and he can’t shake a feeling about him. 

When they line up at the end of the game, Kaoru makes sure to be across from Mizuki, shoving his way subtly into place. 

“Indou Kaoru,” he says, extending his hand. Mizuki looks at him questioningly before shaking, brows drawn in confusion. 

“Oh. Ah, Mizuki Hisahito,” he says, hesitantly, but his eyes are lit up with an intense fire, grip firm around Kaoru’s hand. Kaoru’s eyes widen, feeling an almost electric shock run up his arm before Mizuki pulls away. 

_ Mizuki Hisahito _ , Kaoru thinks, turning the name over in his mind and filing it away.  _ If he doesn’t give up, he’ll be the best, someday. _

It’s the first time Kaoru thinks it, but it’s far from the last.

.

(When Kaoru is only a child, his parents die in a car accident. 

This is the first thing he really, truly learns: nobody stays. 

_ That’s life,  _ he thinks, but his attempts at justification fall flat, even to himself. Kaoru’s grandparents try to straighten him out, but the bitterness has already made a home in his heart, wrapping thorns around his chest and forcing him to withdraw into himself.  _ It’s not fair _ . 

His grandparents try everything, but are met with nothing but sullen silence and quiet anger. 

Then, he meets Narukami Ryu, and falls in love with soccer.

_ A prodigy _ , he calls Kaoru, and it’s the first time since the accident that Kaoru’s felt like this – felt talented, good enough for anyone. He chases that feeling to the ends of the earth, and elementary school flies by in a blur of green fields and scuffed knees. Then –

– Ryu dies, and Kaoru’s lost too much to give up on this now. 

Again, he’s reminded of what he knows. Nobody stays.

He gets involved with the wrong crowds, the wrong people, but what grounds him still is the rush of the match, the pounding of his heart when he’s on the pitch, relying on nothing but his teammates and his own skills. 

Five years later, he makes some questionable decisions, like biking halfway across Japan on a whim, some half-formed childhood fever dream. 

Eventually, by fate or chance or sheer dumb luck, he meets Narukami Shuuji in a trashy subway train, and it’s as if everything in his life has  _ clicked _ – the ball at his feet, partner fast on his heels: it fills a void that’s been left empty for too long. 

It’s enough, for a long time – and then he meets Mizuki, and then it isn’t.)

.

He’s in middle school when he first sees his classmates gang up on some kid, a skinny nerd who looks barely out of elementary school. Kaoru’s developed a distaste for violence over the years, but he knows that group well – it’s not his place to intervene. 

“Oi, what’s he done?” Kaoru whispers, to a friend. 

“Rumor is, he’s some kind of homo,” his friend replies, shiftily, as if it’s a disgraceful topic. Kaoru supposes it is, but something about it rests uneasily in him. His friend sees the question in his face, because he scoots closer, glancing around and whispering discreetly. 

“Heard he tried to confess to another dude,” he hisses. “I feel sick just thinking about it, geez.”

Kaoru looks at the kid, cowering in the midst of his attackers, arms raised in supplication – or defense, and tries to imagine it. He tries to imagine the kid’s face without the nasty scratch running down the side of his face, his mouth upturned in a hopeful smile instead of pulled taut with fear. 

It’s – it’s not a bad picture, even though Kaoru doesn’t find him particularly attractive, and he’s not sure what that says about him. He tries to imagine baring your feelings to someone and having them recoil in disgust, having them react violently. He frowns. 

Kaoru shouldn’t say anything. It’s not his place. 

Later, after class, he talks to his homeroom teacher. He’s not a  _ snitch _ , but –

– it just hadn’t seemed right. 

.

(For a long time, after that, he turns over situations in his head, hypothetical daydreams of what he could have done. He could have taken the group, probably, if it had come down to a fight. 

But he hadn’t said anything, and he’d let the kid suffer for the sake of his own fragile pride. 

He regrets it, looking back. 

Maybe, two years down the line, that’s why he speaks up when he does, why he stops the group taunting Shuuji when he first meets him. Maybe he’s making up for past mistakes – tired of seeing people hurt. 

Maybe, he thinks, when he hears Shuuji’s name, eyes going wide, it’s fate trying to tell him something.)

.

It’s Kaoru’s second year, and he’s led Sakuragi’s team to a sweeping turnaround. Just last year, they’d been at risk of dissolution – and here they are, standing as champions of the Tokyo Regionals. He revels in it, throwing everything he has into soccer, into his team. His grades have been suffering for it, and he barely has any friends at school, aside from his teammates – but it’s worth it. There are rumors of scouts looking for new players this year, and Kaoru will gladly give up his chance at a normal high school career – of a social life, really – if he can go pro.

They’d had a close final game against Seiseki, and they’d just barely come out on top, Kaoru scoring the decisive point from halfway across the field with only a minute left on the clock. They rally together at the center line for the line-up, and Kaoru meets Mizuki’s stare with a petty grin. 

“Good game,” he says, and Mizuki shakes his head, jaw tensed. After a beat, he relaxes. Kaoru notices, suddenly, how much he’s changed since Kaoru had first seen him. Now, he moves with a fluid grace, thin frame replaced with lean muscle and sharp angles. He’s – attractive, Kaoru realizes, guiltily.

“Good game,” Mizuki replies, shaking his hand, and Kaoru feels something resound through his chest, triumphant and fierce. “But don’t let this get to your head. You might start thinking that you’re a good player.”

“Oi, what’s that supposed to mean?”

“Your passes were sloppy. They were too...” Mizuki trails off, making a strange sound effect and pairing it with an equally incomprehensible hand gesture. Kaoru ignores it, though he gives Mizuki an unimpressed look. Around them, the line-up dissolves, players grouping up to talk after the match’s end before heading back into the locker rooms. 

“Coming from you?” Kaoru hesitates.  _ Do I really want to push him? _ Mizuki turns, fractionally, and Kaoru follows the motion before he can help it, eyes sweeping over his jaw, the lines of his neck, and he’s opening his mouth before he can help it.

“You could barely pass at all, just a year ago.” He sees the moment his words connect – Mizuki takes a step threateningly forward, voice quiet. This is a familiar habit now, the comfortable antagonism slipping over him like a shield. 

“I’ve worked, and I’ve improved. Can you even say the same?”

Kaoru glances pointedly at his captain’s armband, and Mizuki all but growls, stepping back.

“I’m wasting my time on you,” Mizuki says, flatly, and lets a teammate – Usui, if Kaoru remembers correctly – sweep him away, leading him off the field. Kaoru stands there for another minute, scuffing his cleats on the field, feeling the rush of victory drain out of him slowly, sweetly.

Winning feels good, but there’s something missing, something settling unsteadily into the pit of his stomach.

Shuuji runs over to him, tapping him on the arm. “Earth to Kaoru,” he says. “Time to go.”

Kaoru hums in assent, turning, and Shuuji glances at him before looking over at Mizuki’s retreating figure, tilting his head. Kaoru tries not to stiffen, the set of his shoulders rigid at his sides.

“So,” Shuuji says, carefully. “What did you guys talk about?”

Kaoru huffs, steps scraping against the turf. “The usual. I don’t know why I bother.” It’s a lie, and he knows it, and he’s sure Shuuji knows it. 

“You know,” Shuuji says, toeing carefully away from Kaoru, “when you want to befriend someone, you usually don’t open with personal attacks.”

“Who said anything about wanting to be  _ friends _ with that dumbass?” he says, trying his best to sound affronted.

“You are,” Shuuji says, “the most frustrating, impossible person I’ve ever known.” 

Kaoru makes an indignant noise, whirling over to glare at the pint-sized forward. “You–”

“You  _ like _ him,” Shuuji says, rubbing a tired hand over his face. “Geez, you’re like an elementary schooler pulling on a girl’s pigtails.”

Kaoru tries not to freeze, but his movements are rigid, as if Shuuji’s poured a bucket of ice water on him. “He’s becoming a good player,” he tries, and Shuuji interrupts him again.

“No, I mean – look, I’m not going to pry, but you look at him like you used to look at my sister – which was totally kind of awkward, by the way –”

“Shuuji,” he says, faintly. Kaoru feels as if he’s on the brink of a strange, sudden realization, and he’s not sure how he feels about that. “I’m going to go shower.”

Shuuji glances at him, surprised. “Nice avoidance, but okay.”

“No, I just –” Shuuji stops him, waving him away. 

“No, seriously, okay, go – take your shower, or whatever, and have your panic in there, and when you’re done, we can talk about this like mature friends.” Kaoru swallows, nodding, turning to leave before pausing.

“I – thanks,” Kaoru says, before scurrying away into the locker room, head bowed. He tries his best not to  _ think _ , because he’s honestly not sure what’ll happen when he does, shoving his way into the showers and removing his clothes almost mechanically.

He lets the water soothe him, dragging a hand through his hair and finally starting to piece through his thoughts.  _ You like him, _ Shuuji’d said. He does, in a sense. He admires Mizuki’s dedication, his growing skill, the way his eyes glinted while on the field. 

– Kaoru doesn’t know, really, who Mizuki is off the field. 

It’s unimportant, irrelevant: but still, Kaoru wants to know. It’s a strange thought.

He thinks about that kid he’d seen in middle school, who’d had one too many strange thoughts, and he purses his lips, standing under the water mutely until it runs cold.

.

Eventually, between Mizuki’s growing prowess on the field and Shuuji’s continued prying, Kaoru admits it: he has a ridiculous crush on Mizuki Hisahito.

He convinces himself that it’s meaningless. Feelings fade, and people leave. It’s only a matter of time before they go their separate ways, regardless.

He’s not surprised when Mizuki becomes Seiseki’s captain. Instead, he’s – strangely proud, self-satisfied. 

He’d had good taste, after all.

.

He’s sitting in on a Touin match, Mizuki sitting next to him, when Mizuki excuses himself to go to the bathroom. 

His bag is open, and Kaoru can see his phone inside, screen lit up with an unread notification. 

Kaoru glances around, guilt curling tight in his gut before he reaches for it, sighing in relief when he sees that there’s no password lock. He sends Mizuki’s contact information to his phone – and the rest of Seiseki’s, for good measure – and deletes the history, locking Mizuki’s phone and throwing it back into his bag. 

_ It’s only to keep tabs on Seiseki _ , he tells himself.  _ Captain discussions. Official business.  _

He stares at his phone, debating whether or not to keep it, when Mizuki comes back. 

“What, your mom texting you?” he asks, gaze already fixed back on the match. 

“Shut up,” Kaoru says, and puts his phone back into his pocket. 

They’re only phone numbers, after all. No harm, no foul. 

.

That year – three years after he first meets Mizuki – Kaoru runs into Mizuki at the hanabi festival, and all of Kaoru’s carefully constructed walls start going to shit.

.

The fading light glides over Mizuki’s skin tenderly, bringing out the sharp angles of his jaw, his brow. His tanned skin stands out starkly against the pale fabric, droplets of condensed sun gleaming in his eyes. It’s one of the few times Kaoru’s really seen Mizuki off the field.

Kaoru feels like a loose thread, poking insistently out of the hem of his shirt – one tug and he feels like he’ll unravel. 

He feels inexplicably heavy, as if his legs are leaden, his heart straining against his constricting ribs and making something slow and insistent ache in his chest. He can’t tear his eyes away from Mizuki – can’t seem to make his body cooperate and step away before Mizuki notices him.

Kaoru’s not even supposed to be there. He’d been dragged by Shuuji to the fireworks festival, enticed with promises of free food and an IOU for Nacchan’s curry. Kaoru had thrown on the only piece of semi-traditional clothing he’d had, a ratty, dark red thing hiding in the back of his closet, and Shuuji’d ditched him in the crowd, probably scurrying away to buy overpriced takoyaki and cheap souvenirs. Kaoru’s not sure why he’s here. He’s sure as hell not supposed to be  _ here _ , staring over at Mizuki in his white yukata like a lovestruck girl.

Kaoru turns to leave – that’s his first mistake. Mizuki glances over at the movement, noticing Kaoru with a start.

“Oi,” he calls, and Kaoru freezes, as if nailed to the ground. “Indou?”

_ Fuck.  _

Kaoru turns almost mechanically, hand rubbing self-consciously at his neck. “Mizuki.”

They stare awkwardly at each other, neither of them finding anything to say. Kaoru feels the familiar insults waiting on the tip of his tongue, but swallows them down, moving to stuff his hands in his pockets before remembering that he doesn’t have any – if Mizuki catches the subtle movement, he doesn’t say anything, only shooting Kaoru a thoroughly unimpressed glance.

“So,” Kaoru says, trying for casual and missing by a mile. “What are you doing here?”

Mizuki narrows his eyes at him, and Kaoru tries not to cringe. 

“I’m here for the fireworks, dumbass. That’s the point of the festival.”

Kaoru swallows. “Right.”

Lanterns and electric lights line the streets, bathing Mizuki in their warm glow as the sun slips further down the horizon. Kaoru watches and waits and  _ wants _ , because Mizuki – Mizuki is gorgeous, and Kaoru feels longing tugging at the butterflies in his stomach, in the lingering ache that trembles beneath his skin.

Kaoru wants to kiss him. The thought takes root before he can help it, and – Kaoru hates himself for it. Kaoru wants to run his fingers over Mizuki’s neck, under his jaw, across his cheek. He wants to curl his fingers in Mizuki’s hair. He wants to finally, finally kiss him – he wants, he wants, he  _ wants. _

Mizuki meets his eyes, and he sees something flicker in Mizuki’s eyes before he turns away from Kaoru.  _ Does he notice the way I look at him? _

“If you’re just going to stare. I’m not going to waste my brain cells on someone like you,” Mizuki mumbles, before beginning to walk away. 

_ You should stop him, _ Kaoru’s brain protests. He hesitates, reaching out as if to grab Mizuki’s wrist, before he remembers himself, flinching back. 

“Mizuki,” he calls out instead. Mizuki turns, expectant. “Did you come with anyone?”

Mizuki hesitates, fiddling with the wide sleeve of his yukata. Kaoru tries not to track the motion, eyes skimming over his wrists, the raised tendons of his hand. 

“No,” he admits, looking away. Mizuki looks as if he’s about to think of another jab, another barbed remark, so Kaoru interrupts him. 

He’s tired of antagonizing Mizuki. 

“Watch the fireworks with me,” he blurts out. “If – if you didn’t have plans, that is, uh, I didn’t mean –”

“Huh,” Mizuki says, searching Kaoru’s face. He’s silent for a beat, before shrugging. “Why not, I guess. Sure.”

Kaoru crosses his fingers and hopes that Shuuji’s found a nice hole to dig himself into.

Mizuki leads him away from the main market street, and as the sounds of the bustle fade into the distance, Kaoru’s increasingly aware of how it’s just the two of them, their footsteps falling in sync. 

“There’s a park,” Mizuki says, soft, as if he doesn’t want to disturb the silence between them.  _ Do you feel this too? _ Kaoru glances forward at Mizuki’s back, close enough to touch. Mizuki stops, turning to Kaoru. 

“It’s where I go every year. It’s only a block down, and it’s quiet, with a nice view of the fireworks.”

“Okay,” Kaoru says, confused at the abrupt stop. Mizuki sighs, his breath fogging up in the crisp air. He glances at Kaoru, as if he wants to ask something, and Kaoru tenses, waiting. 

Mizuki purses his lips, shaking his head minutely as if deciding against it. He looks up at Kaoru, and for a dizzying moment Kaoru feels pinned by his gaze, before Mizuki turns away and the moment is broken. Kaoru feels something dancing electric under his skin, nervous energy tingling through his hands, his legs. 

_ I could have kissed him _ , his brain whispers, and Kaoru steels himself, trying to push the thought out of his mind. 

They approach the park in the distance, a small path lined with trees cutting through the turf and towards a picnic area. Mizuki follows it halfway before veering off past the trees, into the thin stretch of grass that slopes up into a soft hill. He jogs up the slope with quick, sure strides, and Kaoru follows, eyes lingering on the grace of Mizuki’s movements as he moves. 

Mizuki stills, looking down at his feet, before he shrugs to himself and sits down on the ground, legs splaying out in front of him and hands curling into the grass below. He points into the darkening sky. 

“The fireworks hit over there, every year.” Kaoru sits down next to him, looking over at Mizuki. 

“Sounds like you come here a lot.”

Mizuki tips his head in a nod. 

“My grandfather used to bring me here,” he says, a hint of wistfulness in his voice. “It’s not the best view, but all of those spots are packed, anyways.” Kaoru doesn’t push, leaning back and crossing his arms behind his head, laying back on the grass. The light has almost completely faded from the evening, but Mizuki is still a solid presence next to him, as if he’d snatched the glow from the sunset and swallowed it whole – just being next to him makes Kaoru warmer, and he tries to ignore it, choosing instead to tear his eyes away and fix them pointedly on the sky. An airplane soars in the distance, blinking lights flashing their faint trail through the black.

A sudden burst of light illuminates the sky, and Kaoru smiles, letting out a small laugh. The fireworks this year are impressive, the kinds that fade away before surging back to life, fizzling and sparkling unapologetically before his eyes. Kaoru risks a glance at Mizuki, and what he sees makes his breath catch raggedly in his throat. 

Mizuki is transfixed by the fireworks display, lips quirked upward in a smile that seems strangely bittersweet. His eyes are bright, reflecting the glittering fireworks that rain across the sky. In the dark, his skin looks flawless and smooth, light dancing across his face with each successive  _ crack  _ that echoes across the sky and rattles in Kaoru’s chest. 

Mizuki shines brighter than everything in the skies – he is beautiful, but Kaoru is Kaoru, so he forces himself to turn away and look back at the fireworks, even though his mind is drunk on their proximity, heart begging him to lean closer, to touch. 

“It’s nice,” Kaoru says.

“Yeah,” Mizuki agrees, “It is.” 

Kaoru gets the feeling they’re talking about very different things, but he ignores it, letting the spaces between them fall into a comfortable silence, crackling fireworks going off in the distance. Eventually, the sky lights up in a fantastic, sweeping finale, green and red explosions covering the horizon.

The lights fade, leaving only smoke in their wake. A blanket of stillness falls over them, as if the night is relearning silence, and Kaoru moves hesitantly, not wanting to break the moment. He sits up, about to say something, but Mizuki’s hand encircles his arm and Kaoru snaps his mouth shut. 

“Let’s just wait here for a bit,” he says, and Kaoru nods mutely. Mizuki’s hand is warm, a brand on Kaoru’s skin. 

They sit there for a long time, and Mizuki doesn’t pull his hand away, even as his grip loosens and his fingers spread over Kaoru’s wrist, as if to take his racing pulse. There’s a strange look in Mizuki’s eyes, as if he’s trying to figure something out, and Kaoru holds his gaze for a moment before he flinches away, gluing his eyes to the ground below. 

He waits. The moments tick by slowly, measured only by his shaky breaths and too-loud heartbeats. 

Mizuki moves first, getting to his feet. He offers a hand to Kaoru – Kaoru takes it, letting himself be pulled upwards, and Mizuki doesn’t say anything when Kaoru’s hand lingers a beat too long, greedy for the contact.

They part ways, with Mizuki choosing to head home instead of returning to the festival’s bustle. Kaoru doesn’t argue. He watches Mizuki leave, feeling as if he’s missed something when Mizuki turns back, meeting his eyes, before walking away.

Kaoru heads back to the main street, game booths still crowded with children and couples alike. He takes his phone from his pocket, wincing when he sees five missed calls from Shuuji. He swipes the missed call notification, bringing the phone to his ear. 

“Where the hell did you go?” Shuuji’s voice snaps in his ear. 

“Sorry,” Kaoru starts.

“You totally ditched me!” Kaoru rubs at his face, trying to calm his rising headache. 

“Where are you?”

“Ah, you wouldn’t know, would you? ‘Cause you  _ left me _ , Kaoru,” Shuuji whines.  _ He can be such a child _ , Kaoru thinks, rolling his eyes.

“I – I was with Mizuki,” he says quickly, feeling his face flush as Shuuji all but squeals. 

“Whoa, okay. Fine. I’m over at the okonomiyaki station. You’re going to come here, pay for my food, and spill, deal?”

“Fine,” Kaoru grumbles, feet already leading him towards the booth in question. The streets are packed with people, and Kaoru finds himself holding back the urge to push bodily through the crowd. 

As he approaches, he spots a flash of magenta, stifling the urge to flee as Shuuji spots him, waving him over with a predatory smile.  _ I swear he wasn’t like this when I first met him. Maybe I rubbed off on him, huh… _

“Soooo,” Shuuji says, singsong. “You were with Mizuki, huh?”

“Shut up,” Kaoru growls, but he can feel a blush rising in his cheeks. Shuuji gives him a smug look, and Kaoru throws a hand in Shuuji’s hair, roughly grinding down on his scalp. 

“Shut up,” he says again, and Shuuji lets out a yelp, swatting at Kaoru’s hand. “Nothing like that happened.”

Shuuji elbows him in the side and Kaoru jumps, glaring down at Shuuji murderously. 

“But  _ something _ happened,” Shuuji says, pointing at Kaoru’s face with faux innocence. “Or you wouldn’t be looking like that. Should ”

“Like – what, exactly?”

“Like you’re holding back the urge to smile, idiot. Don’t, by the way. You look scary when you do.”

“Oi, what’s that supposed to mean–”

Shuuji turns away, skipping giddily towards the booth and ordering. He turns back, giving Kaoru his best impression of puppy eyes, and Kaoru sighs before regretfully drawing out his wallet. 

“Thanks,  _ Kaoru-chan _ ,” Shuuji coos, saccharine. Kaoru holds back the urge to punch him. They move away from the queue, Shuuji fixing his gaze on the wide grill preparing his food. “So, Mizuki.”

“Yeah,” Kaoru says, hand rubbing at his neck. “We, uh, watched the fireworks.”

“Together.”

“Yeah.” 

“Aaand?”

Kaoru shrugs, face on fire. “Nothing really happened, ah –”

Shuuji huffs with impatience, throwing his hands on his hips and giving Kaoru a look. “It’s enough that I have to listen to you gush over your weird gay crush, okay –”

“Fine, fine!” Kaoru says, interrupting him quickly. “We sat there after the fireworks ended and – he put his hand on my arm, I guess.” Kaoru regrets it the minute he says it out loud, and he turns away, embarrassed.  _ Shit, this sounds so lame.  _

“You’re so whipped,” Shuuji mutters, flatly. Kaoru grits his teeth. 

“Don’t,” Kaoru warns, and Shuuji rolls his eyes. 

“Did you kiss him?” 

Kaoru’s pretty sure he’s two steps away from dying of mortification. “N-no!”

“But you wanted to.”

“I hate you,” Kaoru spits. “With a passion. I never want to look at you ever again.”

“Mmm, that’s a yes.”

Kaoru swipes a hand over his eyes, and Shuuji laughs at him. “Did he want you to?”

Kaoru freezes, before he waves his hand in a non-committal gesture. “Dunno,” he mumbles. “Doubt it. He’s straight, right?”

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen Mizuki with a girl,” Shuuji says. “Unless you count that demon Seiseki calls their manager, hmm.”

Kaoru shrugs, again, helplessly. 

“You’re hopeless,” Shuuji says, just as someone calls his order number. Shuuji strolls happily up, grabbing his food. 

“Anyways,” Shuuji says, with a full mouth. “You have their numbers, right? Seiseki? Didn’t you copy them onto your phone when you went through Mizuki’s phone – which was totally creepy, by the way, Kaoru –”

“Get to the point,” Kaoru snaps, face bright red. 

“You could, y’know. Ask around. See if Mizuki’s got a girlfriend.” Shuuji pauses, chewing thoughtfully. “See if he says anything about you.”

“Oh,” Kaoru says. 

It’s a plan. 

.

Kaoru shoots a text to Haibara that night. 

To: Haibara Jirou

> [19:24]  Hey do you know if Mizuki’s single

The reply is almost instantaneous. 

From: Haibara Jirou

> [19:25]  what the fuck why does everyone fucking ask me this, i dont even know who you are, why is everyone at our school thirsty for my soccer captain like i dont even know like nooo nobody asks me if IM single 

To: Haibara Jirou

> [19:26]  Are you single

From: Haibara Jirou

> [19:27] no but thanks for asking

Kaoru stares at the screen, waiting impatiently. Eventually, it pays off. 

From: Haibara Jirou

> [19:30]  …yes, to answer your question, mizuki is single

From: Haibara Jirou

> [19:30]  good luck though i dont think hes ever dated lol

From: Haibara Jirou

> [19:30]  wait who is this?

Kaoru stares at the message for too long, feeling strangely accomplished. 

.

To: Ooshiba Kiichi

> [13:56]  It’s indou kaoru from saku. Meet me in the locker room lobby. 

For a few minutes, Kaoru’s almost certain that Ooshiba’s ignored his text, and that he won’t show.

Then, he hears steps from Seiseki’s side, and Ooshiba’s storming into the room, 180-odd centimeters of raging incompetence. 

“What do you want?” Ooshiba asks, uncertainly, as if he’s just now realized he’s consorting with the enemy team’s captain. 

“So, you and Kimishita,” Kaoru says, off-handedly. 

Ooshiba flinches, trying to maintain his composure. Kaoru would feel bad for him, but – sometimes he feels as if Seiseki’s forward has it coming. 

“Or is it just you?”

Ooshiba grits his teeth, looking away. 

“What do you want,” he spits, voice almost a growl. Kaoru has the feeling Ooshiba’s just barely holding back from throttling him, and he quirks his lips upward, amused.

Kaoru shoves his hands in his pockets, shrugging. He tries to keep his voice casual when he answers, but he’s not sure if it hits the mark. “Mizuki.”

Ooshiba’s quiet for a long moment before he huffs. “Figures.”

“Is it that obvious?” Kaoru asks, glancing away. 

“For everyone with a brain, yeah. Good thing Mizuki’s not one of them.” Kaoru takes a moment to process the statement, coming from  _ Ooshiba _ , before he shrugs. 

“So – why do you push Mizuki like that? I don’t get you, dumbass,” Ooshiba says finally, throwing his hands up into the air for emphasis. “Don’t you, what,  _ like _ him? Why do you make him hate you?”

_ I’m a coward, that’s why. And – he doesn’t hate me. Not really. _

Kaoru laughs, a bitter thing. It stays in the air for a moment too long, crystallizing into something tense in the silence. 

“Don’t you think,” Kaoru says, dangerously, “that you do the same thing?” Ooshiba’s eyes go wide before shuttering, as if he’s trying to hide something – badly. Kaoru’s pretty sure he knows exactly what the secret in question is, and Ooshiba’s sudden glare confirms it. The redhead storms forward, pushing Kaoru back hard against the wall. 

“What the fuck are you trying to say?”

Kaoru smiles, razor sharp. “I think we’ve already established that, haven’t we?”

Ooshiba’s hand digs into his chest almost painfully, and Kaoru lets it, waiting. Finally, Ooshiba turns away, eyes dark and shoulders raised as if to defend himself, raising a hand to sweep roughly across his face. 

“Thought so,” Kaoru mutters.

They fall into another tense silence, and Kaoru wants to laugh at the insanity of their situation. Ooshiba is the last person from Seiseki he’d expect to be here, with him, but – here he is, nonetheless.

“Why don’t you do something?” Kaoru asks, not really invested in the answer.

“Why don’t  _ you _ ?” Ooshiba shoots back, and Kaoru huffs, sliding down the wall and pulling his knees up to his chest. 

“I – have good reasons,” Kaoru says, and tries not to wince at the way his voice comes out bitter and pained, the way it cracks when he starts speaking. He studies his hands intently, leaning his head against his knees.  _ Mizuki is – Mizuki. _ Kaoru sighs, absently picking at his nails out of nervous habit. 

_ He deserves better _ , Kaoru tries not to think.

Ooshiba stares at him, and Kaoru raises a finger to point at the redhead.

“He’ll notice eventually, you know. Kimishita. It’s only a matter of time,” Kaoru says, and Ooshiba flinches as if he’s been burnt. 

“And Mizuki won’t?” Ooshiba tries to fire back, but it’s weak – they both know that Kaoru is right. Distantly, the rain picks up, thudding insistently against the ceiling. Kaoru leans back, feeling it resonate through the walls, through the floor. 

“No,” Kaoru says, trying not to let his weariness show on his face. A part of him wants the floor to open up and swallow him whole. “He won’t.”

“So why are you telling me this? You’re wasting my time.”

Kaoru taps his foot on the ground, deliberating.  _ Moment of truth.  _

“I think,” he says carefully, “that we can help each other get what we want.”

Kaoru flashes a grin, holding up his phone screen. On it, Kimishita’s contact entry shines brightly in Ooshiba’s face, and his eyes widen before they narrow, turning to regard Kaoru suspiciously.

“How–”

“Does it matter?”

Ooshiba pauses, taking a breath.

“Guess not.”

.

From: Ooshiba Kiichi

> [12:35]  my sister has a crush on mizuki 2 yknow

From: Ooshiba Kiichi

> [12:35] think htis is a conflict of interest

To: Ooshiba Kiichi

> [12:40] Deal with it

Ooshiba sends him Seiseki’s upcoming match and practice schedule for the next month, along with some thinly veiled barbs. Kaoru politely chooses to ignore them, and focuses on the former, starting to plan days where he can probably sneak into the crowd and watch Seiseki’s games.

It’s a little creepy, even for him, but – it is what it is.

.

He’s coming out of the locker room after running drills with the incoming recruits, backpack tucked under his arm, when Kaoru spots them. 

Kaoru recognizes the two first-years. They’re two of the aspiring players who want to make the team, Suzuki and Haizaki, and Kaoru’s watched them on the pitch. They have potential – Suzuki would make a talented midfielder one day, and Haizaki has played goalie for years. A feeling twists, dark and foreboding in Kaoru’s gut, when he sees them cornering a kid against a wall. The kid looks like he’s a first year too, but he’s small, markedly feminine, with short bleached blond hair – and terrified.

Kaoru approaches, quickly, interrupting them.

“What do you think you guys are doing?” He swallows down his anger, putting on a placid expression and turning to the kid against the wall. 

“Are these guys giving you trouble?” The blond’s eyes widen fractionally, and he glances at the two before shaking his head, quickly ducking out and scurrying away. Kaoru watches him go, studying the way he bows his head and curls in on himself. He turns his gaze on the two first-years, who watch him cautiously, fearfully.  _ Good. _

“Now,” he says, slamming Haizaki against the wall. “I believe I asked you a question: what were you two doing?” Haizaki’s head hits the wall with a vaguely satisfying  _ thump _ , and Suzuki holds his hands up placatingly, eyes wide.

“We weren’t – we were just having a discussion,” he stammers out, and Kaoru turns his glare to him, watching as Suzuki stumbles over his words, swallowing. 

“He was a  _ fag _ ,” Haizaki spits out, finally, disgust heavy in his tone. “He had it coming.”

Kaoru forces himself to breathe, forces his arm to stay still at his side, and lets go of Haizaki’s collar. 

“Ah,” Kaoru grits out, clenching his teeth together and trying to calm his racing heartbeat. He’s angry and he’s bitter and – he’s suddenly, painfully reminded of what he is, what he feels. 

“I mean, you get it, right, Captain?” Haizaki tries. “He was looking at us, y’know, like  _ that _ – disgusting.”

Kaoru closes his eyes for a split second, imagining Mizuki here, saying the same words.  _ “Disgusting.”  _ Something in Kaoru’s chest aches, and he feels as if he’s going to be sick.  _ Is that what he would think of me, if he knew? _ He opens his eyes and they stand in silence for a moment. 

“Well, I get it,” Kaoru says, shrugging and moving away. The two breathe a sigh of relief in unison, and Kaoru holds himself back, forcing himself to take a few steps away, as if to leave, before stopping and calling over his shoulder.

“By the way, you two are off the team.”

Suzuki and Haizaki make choked noises of surprise, sprinting over to Kaoru. “Y-you can’t just do that,” Suzuki begs.

“I’m the captain,” Kaoru says, flippantly. “I’d appreciate it if you wouldn’t tell me what I can and can’t do.” The two fall into stunned silence, and Kaoru takes the opportunity to walk away, leaving quickly. The minute he turns the corner, he starts to run, making a break for the locker room. Kaoru pushes open the door, breathing a sigh of relief as he scans the room and finds it – as expected – empty.

He leans against the wall, crumbling unsteadily down and watching his hands curl tight against his knees, emotions tumultuous in his chest.

_ I’m a mess,  _ he thinks, staring blankly ahead at the locker room’s walls, a sickly off-white shade on all sides, paint peeling in several places. Almost numbly, he thinks about the composition of the first years now that the two are off the roster with a twinge of disappointment. 

His mind replays the scene, but this time, Kaoru is the one being cornered, Mizuki advancing in on him. 

_ That’s sickening,  _ Mizuki says, voice devoid of inflection, and dream-Kaoru flinches back, hard, as if he’s been hit. Where he’s sitting in real life, Kaoru feels a mirroring ache thud dully in his chest, despair creeping through his veins. 

_ Didn’t know you were like  _ that,  _ Indou, _ and dream-Kaoru lets Mizuki shove him, hard, stumbling backwards and landing hard against the row of lockers, metal doors rattling with the impact. He sees the punch coming, and resigns himself to it, even as the familiar patterns of dodging and counterattacking tingle in his hands, muscle memory from times better left forgotten. 

Kaoru snaps himself out of the daydream just as Mizuki’s punch lands, feeling bruised all over. 

_ It’s better this way,  _ Kaoru thinks. Mizuki hates him already, in a sense, but any amount of antagonistic rivalry is better than – that. Like this, they’ll both go pro, going their separate ways, and Mizuki will be none the wiser. And Kaoru – Kaoru can deal. 

He knows this by now: nobody stays, least of all not Mizuki, who shines brighter than he will ever deserve. 

It’s just a passing crush, after all. 

Kaoru doesn’t leave for a long time, and when he moves to stand, his legs feel as if they’ll give out beneath him.

.

He meets Mizuki after a match. They go out for dinner, and Kaoru’s surprised when Mizuki invites him back to his place, but he goes with it. They enter Mizuki’s house quietly, and Kaoru’s surprised at the emptiness, at the familiar quiet.

Mizuki looks at him, expectant.

Kaoru leans in, kissing Mizuki, and Mizuki makes a satisfied noise, lips parting minutely before he leans into it, raising a hand to curl across Kaoru’s neck. Kaoru licks into Mizuki’s mouth, insistent and heated, and Mizuki makes another low noise when Kaoru’s tongue meets his. Kaoru feels a small shiver run through Mizuki and feels heady, drunk on the way Mizuki leans into his touch. He tips his head over to suck bruises across Mizuki’s neck, and Mizuki makes soft, panting noises that go straight to Kaoru’s dick when Kaoru moves a hand down Mizuki’s chest, thumbing at the waistband of his jeans.

“Indou,” Mizuki says, breathy. His hands run over Kaoru’s torso, down to his hips, and Kaoru stops breathing when Mizuki drops to his knees. “Can I –”

(“ _ Wait _ ,” he wants to say.)

“Yeah,” he says instead, voice thick. Mizuki’s eyes are blown and his face is flushed, tan skin reddening – and he is  _ beautiful _ . Kaoru runs a hand through Mizuki’s hair, feeling shaky and weak from how much Mizuki’s eyes are affecting him. Kaoru’s realized how long he’s wanted this, how much he’s needed to see the same desire he feels reflected back at him. Everything in him vibrates, aching, and he needs Mizuki’s hands on him, needs to feel that touch.

“Wait,” Kaoru rasps. Mizuki looks up at him, patient. “Tell me you want this.”

“Idiot,” Mizuki says, and his voice is a wreck. “I want this. I want you. I – I like you a lot, dumbass.”

Kaoru’s breath stutters when Mizuki palms him through his pants, hands tightening in Mizuki’s hair. Mizuki pulls him out of his pants almost reverently, licking a wet stripe up the side of Kaoru’s cock, and Kaoru’s hips stutter forward, a breath pulled forcefully out of his lungs.

“God,” he breathes. “Mizuki.”

A beeping noise startles Kaoru, and when he turns, he’s opening his eyes, staring at a familiar ceiling, self-hatred sinking like a stone in his chest. He’s flushed, breathing quickly, and there’s a sickening moment of realization when Kaoru realizes what he’s done, what he’d wanted. He’s still hard, he notices, almost distantly, hissing in a breath when he shifts to turn off his alarm, the movement sending a jolt up his spine.

Kaoru lays there, staring at his wall, trying not to hate himself. 

It doesn’t work, not really. 

When he finally moves out of bed to take a much-needed cold shower, he punches the wall hard enough to bruise, staring blankly at the huge blotch of red spreading across his hand, his knuckles. The pain doesn’t distract him from anything, but it makes him feel better, just a little, calms the flame of anger and self-hatred that burns fierce in his chest.

Kaoru huddles there under the cooling water for what seems like hours, shivering and trying to stop his traitorous mind from  _ thinking _ .

“ _ He was looking at us, y’know, like  _ that _ – disgusting _ .”

Haizaki’s words echo through his head, leaving Kaoru feeling disoriented, as if he’s been hit with a wave of vertigo. He turns off the water, listening to the faucet drip in time with his heartbeat, echoing harshly through the quiet bathroom. 

There’s only so far he can run until his thoughts catch up to him, and Kaoru feels as if he’s reached the end of the line. 

.

It’s a tense match, and Sakuragi is down by a point by half-time. They’re playing a team from a wealthy school from the other side of Tokyo, a relatively informal match for both teams to gauge the other before regionals. Kaoru’s winded, leaning over and resting his hands on his knees, trying to catch his breath. As he runs by, Shuuji tosses him a water bottle that he takes gratefully, tipping his head back and downing half the bottle at once. When he screws the cap back on the bottle and glances up, trying to look for Shuuji before he pauses, feeling someone’s gaze on him. 

Slowly, he draws his gaze up to the stands, scanning the top row for a familiar face. 

His eyes widen when he spots Mizuki, shooting him a cheeky peace sign, and Mizuki replies with a half-hearted wave. Kaoru jogs over to the railing separating their bench from the bleachers, and Mizuki shoots him a look before begrudgingly heading down the steps. 

“Your defense is lacking,” Mizuki says, the minute he gets within earshot, and Kaoru’s smile dies on his face. 

“Yeah, well, your brainpower is lacking,” he mumbles, mostly to himself. Kaoru turns to Mizuki, tossing the water bottle around in his hands. “I know. I’ve been off my game.”

“It’s only a point,” Mizuki concedes. “You’ll make it up in the second half.”

Kaoru feels a flash of pride rush through him at Mizuki’s words – not  _ you can _ but  _ you will _ , faith in Kaoru’s skills on the field, if nothing else, secure. The sun has put a faint flush in Mizuki’s cheeks, his eyes narrowed against the harsh light. 

_ He’s still – unfair.  _

“Yeah,” Kaoru says. “I will. I didn’t know you were coming today.”

“Would it have made a difference?” Mizuki asks, shrugging. The same expression is on Mizuki’s face again, the same one from that day, at the fireworks festival – at once focused and confused, as if he’s failing at understanding something. 

“Of course,” Kaoru says, flashing Mizuki a grin. “If I’d known, I would have put on a better show.”

Mizuki lets out a huff of breath, disbelieving. Kaoru looks up at him, and something passes between them, an unspoken understanding. Mizuki nods at him, eyes studying Kaoru’s face. 

“We’ll win,” Kaoru says, with conviction. 

“I’m counting on it,” Mizuki replies, and Kaoru watches him turn away and head back to his seat.  _ Mizuki’s watching, now, huh? _

When Kaoru walks back to the bench, Shuuji whacks him in the face with a towel. 

“Kaoru,” Shuuji says, insistently. “I’m going to kill you.”

“I’d like to see you try,” Kaoru says, sprawling onto the bench. His eyes trail over of their own accord to glance at Mizuki in the crowd, the corner of his lips pulling upward when he sees the gaze reciprocated. Shuuji stares at him before puffing up, wedging his hands swiftly under Kaoru’s back and rolling him off the bench. 

Kaoru lands rather ungracefully on the ground, staring up at Shuuji. He takes a deep breath, counting to ten. 

“You brat –”

“First,” Shuuji interrupts, holding up a finger. “You don’t pass when you need to, and your reactions have been slow this entire game.”

“Second,” Shuuji continues, holding up a second finger. “you don’t pass to  _ me _ , when you need to.”

“Third,” Shuuji says, punctuating the word by jabbing Kaoru in the side with his foot. “You spend half-time talking to  _ Mizuki _ .”

“Look – I didn’t know he was here. I, uh, still don’t know  _ why _ here’s here, exactly. This isn’t an important match, since they’re outside of our seed anyways,” Indou muses. 

Shuuji stares at him before grabbing his water bottle, unscrewing the cap and dumping the rest of its contents onto Kaoru’s face. Kaoru sputters, shooting up with an indignant yell. 

“For someone so smart,” Shuuji says, throwing the empty bottle at Kaoru’s head. “your skull is awfully empty sometimes.”

“I don’t get it.” Kaoru says, and Shuuji makes a frustrated noise. 

– before he can say anything, the ref’s whistle interrupts them. 

“Listen,” Shuuji says as Kaoru gets to his feet. “Why do you  _ think _ Mizuki’d be here if not for the match itself?”

It’s a pointed question, one that Kaoru doesn’t want to think about too much. He knows the answer that Shuuji’s trying to get at, but –

– no need in false hope. He pushes it from his mind, filling it with thoughts of the game, instead, eyes sweeping over the field.  

An opponent player, Hiroki, gestures Kaoru over when their eyes meet by chance, and Kaoru shares a quick questioning glance with Shuuji before shrugging and approaching, Shuuji trotting at his heels. 

“See you and Seiseki’s captain are awfully close, huh,” Hiroki says, airily. 

When Kaoru doesn’t answer, Hiroki  _ hmphs _ to himself, walking forward. 

When Hiroki passes by, he sends Kaoru a vicious, knowing smile that freezes Kaoru’s blood in his veins. 

“Does Mizuki know that you want to fuck him?” Hiroki murmurs in Kaoru’s ear. Before he can stop himself, Kaoru’s got his hand in Hiroki’s collar, other arm tensed and ready to strike. If anything, Hiroki’s smirk only grows, taunting Kaoru. “Or maybe you’re already fucking. Tell me,  _ Indou _ , does he take it well? Does he bend over for you like a bitch?”

For a split second, there is nothing but pure hatred, the rush of blood and anger roaring loud in Kaoru’s ears. Kaoru feels his face contort into a cruel, dark smile – and then Shuuji is in his face, extracting Hiroki from his grip, stepping between them and pushing Kaoru back. Kaoru’s not thinking, and he shoves Shuuji out of the way before he can help it, advancing on Hiroki dangerously. Out of the corner of his eye, he sees the ref step forward warningly. 

His concentration is broken when Shuuji tackles him, full-body, slamming him harshly in the side and knocking the breath out of him. Kaoru raises a hand to his aching ribs with a wince, glaring up at Shuuji.

“The fuck are you doing?”

"Tell me what you want," Shuuji says, insistent.  _ What are you even talking about? _

"I want to break every bone in that asshole’s body," Kaoru snarls, trying to get around Shuuji, who grabs him angrily and tugs hard, painfully, on Kaoru’s arm. He flinches, and when he sweeps his gaze across the field, wide-eyed and furious, he sees Hiroki, laughing at him.  _ I’ll kill him. _

"Look at me," Shuuji hisses. "Look at where we are, damn it,  _ Kaoru _ !" 

Something about the urgency in Shuuji’s voice snaps him out of it, and he grits his teeth, looking around. The familiar feel of the pitch beneath him grounds him, and he takes small comfort in the soft background drone of the crowd. Both teams are staring at him, though, and he realizes that he's clenched both his hands into tight fists, shaking by his sides.

“ _ Breathe _ ,” Shuuji snaps.

Kaoru does, and little by little the creeping red at the corners of his vision drains away, crawling back into his bones where it waits, coiled and deadly. 

"Tell me what you want," Shuuji says again, quietly. Kaoru pauses, staring down at the ground, feeling something small and scared come to life in his chest, now that he’s calmer.  _ Hiroki knows.  _ He knows, and Kaoru’s terrified of what that means, what that says about him.  _ Am I that obvious? _ He meets Shuuji’s eyes and sees only an understanding patience there, and for that Kaoru is deeply, fiercely grateful.

He takes a breath.

"I want to win," he says, finally, and Shuuji nods, satisfied. 

"Then let's win," Shuuji tells him, clasping a hand on his arm. His grip is tight, almost painful, and it grounds Kaoru. He looks away, and his eyes meet Mizuki’s in the stands.

"Let's win," he echoes, and means it. 

.

Sakuragi comes back in the second half to win 7-4, and Kaoru feels fierce pride rush through him when he glances over at his teammates, huddling in celebration. He moves to join them but stops, gaze sweeping across the field. 

Hiroki’s a few meters away, disappointment on his face.  _ Good, _ Kaoru thinks.  _ Let him choke on his loss.  _

He looks up when Kaoru approaches, disgust flitting across his face. Hiroki turns to walk away, but Kaoru grabs his wrist, vice-like, twisting it warningly. Hiroki winces, whirling around. 

“Don’t touch me,” he hisses, and if the ref wasn’t sending suspicious glances in their direction, Kaoru would have punched him by now. 

“We’re still on the pitch, so it’s your lucky day. But let me make one thing clear,” Kaoru says, lowly, letting his grip tighten. Bones creak under his fingers, and Hiroki tries to shake him off, unsuccessfully. Kaoru smiles. “If you talk about Mizuki like that again, I’ll break your pathetic arm.” 

It’s a weak threat, but there’s too much anger clouding Kaoru’s thoughts for him to be coherent. It boils under Kaoru’s skin, making him impulsive and rash.

_ If I hurt him here, I’ll get benched,  _ Kaoru reminds himself. 

Something in Kaoru’s face convinces Hiroki, though, because his eyes widen, his efforts to shake Kaoru off redoubling. 

“Are we clear?” Kaoru asks again. 

“Y-Yes, you insane bastard,” Hiroki snarls. Kaoru lets go of his arm, and Hiroki grabs it with a hiss, rubbing at his wrist. 

“Good,” Kaoru says, already turning away. 

When he reaches the entrance to the locker rooms, Mizuki’s standing over at the fence again, watching him thoughtfully.

“Is there a reason why you’re making a habit of assaulting the other team’s players?” he asks, calmly. Kaoru flushes, feeling strangely at a loss.  _ He saw that, huh? _

“He –” Kaoru pauses, unsure what to say. “He talked shit about things that were none of his business.”

“Sounds like you,” Mizuki says, flippantly, and Kaoru shoots a glare at him.

“Listen,” Kaoru says, suddenly self-conscious. Mizuki stares at him, waiting. Kaoru swallows, running a hand through his hair. “I, uh – Do you want to – I don’t know, get food or something? Since you’re here. And, uh, I’m here.”

Mizuki looks thoroughly unimpressed, but tips his head, considering it. 

“Sure,” he says, and Kaoru’s eyes widen. He’s not sure what he’d been expecting, but it hadn’t been that. 

“Why are you here, anyways?” Kaoru asks, while he’s on a roll. Mizuki squints a little, glancing at his pocket. 

“Ooshiba texted me about it. I’m not sure why.”

“He texted you – what, exactly?” Kaoru has a feeling he’s landed himself in a life debt to Ooshiba, but he’s strangely okay with that, if this is what he’s getting in return. 

“He said that you had a match today,” Mizuki says, shrugging, as if it’s that simple: Kaoru had a match, and so he came. Mizuki doesn’t elaborate on it, though, so Kaoru lets the subject drop, feeling strangely light. 

“I’ll go change and clean up, then – meet me outside later?” 

“Yeah,” Mizuki replies. “Sure.” 

Kaoru forces himself to keep a straight face and walk away, but the minute he gets into the locker room, he punches the air, smile wide on his face. 

.

They file into the ramen shop side by side, Kaoru’s hands stuffed into the pockets of his jacket. The scent of food drifts into Kaoru’s senses, and he follows Mizuki over to a secluded booth in the corner of the shop, sliding over on the wooden bench. A server passes them a menu and cups of tea, leaving them to it.

Kaoru’s strangely anxious, energy buzzing through the tips of his fingers, through his tired legs. He’s not sure what to say, how to talk to Mizuki outside the realm of the pitch. 

He’s not sure how to talk to anyone, really, about anything besides soccer. 

“So,” Kaoru sighs, and Mizuki glances at him. 

“Why’d you come?” Mizuki shrugs, flipping through the pages of the menu thoughtfully.

“You come to my games.”

“That’s different,” Kaoru begins to protest, pausing when Mizuki suddenly turns his attention to him, gaze pointed. 

“Why?” It’s almost as if Mizuki’s looking for something, and Kaoru swallows, a quick flash of nervousness coursing through him.

“Dunno,” he mumbles, angling his menu upwards to avoid Mizuki’s gaze. “It – just is, okay? Geez.”

Mizuki stares at him blankly, before turning back to his own menu. They sit there in silence for a beat, before the server returns to take their orders. When she leaves, menus in tow, Kaoru feels the atmosphere solidify around him, almost painfully awkward, and takes a slow sip from his cup.

“Are you still living with Narukami?”  _ Huh – I didn’t think that he knew about that. _

“A-ah, yeah. I don’t know what I’d do without him, honestly,” Kaoru muses, shaking his head.  _ That kid… _

Mizuki drums his fingers on the table, deliberating, before tilting his head to the side and leaning forward. “Why do you live with him in the first place?”

“It’s…” Kaoru pauses, taking a breath. “It’s a long story.” 

“I’m interested.”

It’s as good of a topic as any to fill the silence, and it’s not as if any of this is a secret – but still, Kaoru feels strangely exposed, suddenly realizing that he’s never told the full story to anyone before. Shuuji knows, of course, but – he didn’t count. He was  _ part _ of the story itself.

Still, he’s always been a nervous talker, so Kaoru talks. 

He tells Mizuki about growing up, lost and untethered, his grandparents trying – unsuccessfully – to keep him in line, and he thinks he sees the first sparks of understanding color Mizuki’s eyes. He tells Mizuki about Narukami Ryu, and how he’d grown up thinking about himself as the first, the best.  _ A soccer prodigy _ , Ryu had called him. Kaoru tastefully ignores Mizuki’s disguised huff of amusement. Kaoru hesitates, before he goes on. He tells Mizuki about Ryu’s sudden death, about the five years of aimless drifting, soccer being his only real anchor. 

He leaves out the part where he decides to march halfway across Japan in a futile attempt to find Ryu’s son. It’s – unimportant, anyways. He tells a half-truth about traveling on a whim, trying to find a place to stay before running into Shuuji while on the bus.

Kaoru recounts his first meeting with Shuuji fondly, telling Mizuki about his heroic rescue of Shuuji from the clutches of his relentless abusers. Mizuki doesn’t seem convinced.

“This sounds awfully familiar,” Mizuki mumbles under his breath. Kaoru shoots him a questioning glance, and Mizuki gives him a small shake of his head. 

“Tsukamoto and Kazama,” he explains, shrugging. “They met the same way, supposedly.”

“Huh,” Kaoru says, tapping his fingers against the table. Across the table, Mizuki raises his cup to his lips. “I’m not dating Shuuji though,” Kaoru appends, and Mizuki chokes, sputtering. He coughs, doubling over, and Kaoru glances up in mild concern.

“You okay?” he asks, and Mizuki straightens up at once, stoic. He flashes a thumbs up, eyes red and watering.  _ He’s ridiculous. _

Kaoru glances at him, suddenly confused.

“Wait – you didn’t know?” Kaoru asks, and Mizuki’s brows furrow. 

“Tsukamoto and Kazama?” Mizuki says, hesitantly.

“They’re together,” Kaoru says, spelling it out for him, and Mizuki stares for a moment, uncomprehending, before his eyes widen in realization. 

“You mean –” Mizuki pauses, as if trying to grapple with the concept. “You mean they’re dating?”

“They’re on  _ your  _ team, Mizuki,” Kaoru says, resting his head in his hands. “Did you not notice?”

“They’ve always been close,” Mizuki says, “I just didn’t know they were – like  _ that _ .”

“Is there a problem with that?” Kaoru asks, almost accusatorily, and Mizuki blinks, slowly. 

“As long as it doesn’t impact their performance on the field, it’s really none of my business.” Kaoru breathes out, relaxing. 

“But you don’t think it’s –”

“Weird?” Mizuki offers. Kaoru nods. “Well, I mean, I guess. It’s a little weird. But if they’re happy, then I’m happy with it.”

“So, the fact that they’re two guys…”

“Does it bother  _ you _ ?” Mizuki’s question takes him by surprise, and Kaoru’s gaze snaps up to his face, clouded with frustration. “Since you keep asking me about it.”

“Of course not,” Kaoru replies. “I was just curious.”

Mizuki sighs, and Kaoru watches him closely. His hair curls gently around his ears, tufts of unruly strands sticking out unevenly, and Kaoru wonders, not for the first time, what it’d be like to run his fingers through it. 

“It doesn’t bother me,” Mizuki says. The sentence dangles in the air, as if there’s something left unspoken, an elaboration hinted at – if only Kaoru could find the right words, the right reactions. 

Before Kaoru can ask, their food comes, shattering the moment, and they spend the rest of their meal eating and making meaningless small-talk. Kaoru feels as if he’s walking on thin ice, one step away from sinking in and putting his foot in things that are none of his business, so he pulls back, slurping his ramen appreciatively and choosing to take what he can get.  _ What was he going to say? _

Mizuki, across from him, is quiet, eyes unreadable as always.  _ That guy – you can never tell whether he’s deep in thought or just zoning out.  _ He leans back, movement jostling his hair. Strands fall by his eyes, and Kaoru tries not to stare, struck with the urge to reach out and sweep them away.

_ He’s cute _ , Kaoru thinks. There’s a solid set to Mizuki’s jaw, a slight furrow in his brow that makes him seem so much older than he is – it hints at a sense of weariness that Kaoru’s almost certain he’s familiar with.  _ His grandfather passed away recently, huh. He’s been on his own since then? _

Kaoru wants – he wants to  _ understand _ , to reach out and smooth away the lines in Mizuki’s expression. Mizuki deserves better. They both do.

_ But that’s life – people leave, and take a piece of you with them.  _

They finish their food, and Kaoru reaches over, getting the bill. Mizuki looks as if he’s about to argue, but Kaoru shoots him a scathing look, and Mizuki gets to his feet. Kaoru follows him, noticing Mizuki’s uncharacteristic silence. 

“So – Tsukamoto and Kazama…” Kaoru tries, trailing off. Mizuki’s shoulders tense minutely, before relaxing.

“There was a guy,” Mizuki starts. “On Seiseki.”

“He left?” Kaoru asks, noting the past tense. Mizuki nods, shoving his hands into his pants pockets. They walk, meandering, towards the nearby bus stop, and silence falls over them again. Kaoru tries to connect the dots, to find the relevance in Mizuki’s words.

“I liked him a lot,” Mizuki says, finally, with a small shrug. “We were almost – y’know.”

Kaoru glances over to Mizuki, eyes wide.  _ It shouldn’t be such a big deal but… why’s he telling me this? _

“So why didn’t you?” Kaoru asks, trying to remember Seiseki’s previous roster. A soft thread of hope winds its way around Kaoru’s ribs, settling in with a soft cloud of warmth.  _ So he does like guys. _

“He moved away,” Mizuki says, plainly. Kaoru tips his head in acknowledgement, silent. “So – the point is, those two don’t bother me.”

“Huh,” Kaoru says, rubbing the back of his neck. “So you like guys?”

Mizuki turns around, slapping the top of his head. Kaoru yelps, rubbing his forehead protectively. 

“Don’t be so direct,” Mizuki grumbles, but he looks away. “Dunno. Sometimes. Does it matter? I don’t really have time for that sort of stuff anyways.”

“I guess it doesn’t,” Kaoru says, fixing his eyes on the ground. He breathes out an airy laugh, but his heart is beating double-time, thunderous in his chest. “It’s the same for me, too, though. Soccer takes up too much of my time.”

Mizuki hums in agreement, and slows to a stop. Above his head, the rickety ceiling of the bus stop hangs over him almost protectively. Kaoru stares at Mizuki, all his thoughts warring in his mind, irreconcilable. Mizuki turns, glancing at Kaoru, and looks down, scuffing his shoes self-consciously on the pavement.

“Thanks for the meal.” Mizuki’s eyes flicker up to Kaoru’s face, and Kaoru’s suddenly aware of how close they’re standing. The air around them is chilly in the evening, but Kaoru suddenly feels a rush of warmth run through him. Mizuki’s breath drifts out in faint wisps around him, and he meets Kaoru’s gaze, almost challenging. 

Kaoru feels the distance between them like a living thing, taunting him. From here, it’d be so easy to kiss him.  _ I want to. _

– he takes a step back, dipping his head.

“Guess this is where we split up,” Kaoru says, avoiding Mizuki’s eyes. Across from him, Mizuki lets out a quiet breath.

“Yeah,” he says.

Kaoru doesn’t let himself think about how he sounds disappointed. He turns around, raising an arm to wave over his shoulder, before walking steadfastly back into the dusk.

.

“So – what’s the problem?” Shuuji asks, frowning. 

Kaoru stares at him frantically, trying to collect his thoughts. 

“He doesn’t like me,” Kaoru says, and Shuuji whacks him with a pillow.  _ He doesn’t know me. I don’t – he won’t like me, when he gets to know me.  _

“What are you even saying? Are you listening to yourself?” Shuuji asks, emphasizing his questions with another blow. The pillow hits Kaoru’s face, and he winces when it catches his eye. 

“You like him,” Shuuji says, slowly. “He, apparently, likes you well enough. So what’s stopping you?”

Kaoru stays silent, his thoughts shifting under his skin like a stormy ocean, insistent and turbulent. He wants to explain that it’s – it’s the  _ vulnerability _ , the  _ risk _ – but when has he shied away from risk? He’s afraid, because admitting that he likes Mizuki is admitting to – to some kind of attachment. Kaoru’s not sure he can deal with that, not now.

“You went after my  _ sister _ , Kaoru,” Shuuji says, exasperated. “And you didn’t hesitate then.”

“That was different,” Kaoru says, dragging a hand through his bangs. “I was a kid.”

“You haven’t changed at all, since I’ve met you,” Shuuji insists. “You’re still that annoying, creepy brat who followed me home.”

Kaoru reaches for the pillow, but Shuuji snatches it away before he can enact his feathery revenge. 

“I saved you from those assholes,” Kaoru protests, weakly, and Shuuji gives him a deliberating glance, shrugging. 

“Either way, why is Mizuki different?” Shuuji asks. “Worst case scenario is that he rejects you – you’ll graduate this year anyways, so you won’t really have to see him again.”

“It’s not about whether or not I’m seeing him,” Kaoru says, and he’s not even sure where he’s going with this anymore. “It – it’ll be better if he just never knows.”

“Kaoru,” Shuuji says, flatly. “I’ve known you for three years, and I’ve heard you fawn over Mizuki for how long now?”

_ I’ve wanted him for so long like this, I wouldn’t know what to do if I got it. I never know what to do when I get the things I want. I think sometimes, if I kissed him, he’d let me. _

Kaoru sifts through his thoughts, frowning. 

“It’s better this way. It won’t be as bad when he leaves,” Kaoru says, shrugging. 

“When he leaves,” Shuuji echoes. 

“Yeah,” he says. “We’re splitting after graduation. It’s better not to get too attached, right?”

Shuuji stares at him in disbelief for a long time, before he shakes his head, eyes shuttered in comprehension. 

“Kaoru,” Shuuji says, softly. “You know we’re friends, right? You’re my best friend.”

Kaoru nods, confused. 

“Friends – they don’t just leave, okay? There are going to be people in your life that stay,” Shuuji says, with intent. “But you have to want that.”

“I know that,” Kaoru says, weakly. 

“I don’t think you do,” Shuuji mutters. Kaoru sighs, leaning back on the futon. He lets the silence between them fall as a concession. 

Kaoru pauses. Shuuji glances at him, poking Kaoru with his foot. 

“What if he rejects me?” Kaoru asks, hating how his voice comes out with a quaver. “I mean – it’s gross, right? Two guys.”

“Maybe,” Shuuji allows, shrugging. “Do you think Mizuki would hate you for that, though? Didn’t you say he almost dated some guy anyways?”

“I don’t know,” Kaoru says, closing his eyes. “I don’t really want to know.”

“Listen,” Shuuji says with a sigh, “I’m your friend and I’m going to support you whether you like girls or guys or both or neither, or  _ whatever _ – but I’m not going to sit here and watch you beat yourself up over it.”

“M’not,” Kaoru mumbles, and Shuuji pinches him on the arm. He yelps, rubbing the spot and shooting Shuuji a hurt look. 

“Talk to him, at least,” Shuuji insists, nudging Kaoru in the side. “At least that way you’ll stop pining over him like this.”

“I – I’m not  _ pining _ ,” Kaoru complains. 

Shuuji only laughs. 

.

To: Mizuki Hisahito

> [3:02] Whats your favorite color

From: Mizuki Hisahito

> [3:03] indou its 3 am

To: Mizuki Hisahito

> [3:03] Why are you still awake?

From: Mizuki Hisahito

> [3:05] why are *you* awake n asking me 4 my favorite color

To: Mizuki Hisahito

> [3:05] Sorry

> [3:11] Was just thinking

From: Mizuki Hisahito

> [3:11] abt what

To: Mizuki Hisahito

> [3:15] You

.

They get together again after another match, at some hole-in-the-wall dessert place that offers ridiculously artificial looking shaved ice bowls topped with red bean and mochi for a ridiculously cheap price. Mizuki goes for it immediately. 

“This place is one of my favorites,” Mizuki says, passing Kaoru a menu. Kaoru tries to reign in his sweet tooth, imagining the inevitable embarrassment of ordering a family-sized portion only to fail at finishing it. 

It’s become a kind of unspoken habit, meeting after a match. Unspoken habits come with unspoken rules – they had agreed to keep conversation relatively soccer-free.  _ To avoid collusion _ , Kaoru had said. 

_ I want to get to know you better _ , he had thought. 

They order and then sit down, Kaoru fiddling with a stray napkin and folding it into a paper crane – or a close approximation of one, its wings misshapen and drooping. 

“My grandfather used to teach me,” Mizuki says, quietly. “Origami, that is.”

“Mine too,” Kaoru murmurs, shooting Mizuki a self-conscious smile. “Tell me about yours?”

Mizuki huffs amusedly, though his eyes fill with a wistful gleam. “He told me from the start that I wasn’t cut out for soccer.”

“Well, to be fair–” 

“Yeah, yeah, shut up, soccer  _ prodigy _ ,” Mizuki grumbles. “He told me that I was too self-centered, too headstrong to be able to play team sports.”

Kaoru quirks his lips into a slight smile. “He wasn’t wrong.”

Mizuki glares at him, and Kaoru holds his hands up in surrender. 

“But he supported me,” Mizuki says, “no matter what. As long as I was passionate: he encouraged me to do it. I was really lucky.”

“Sounds like it,” Kaoru mumbles. 

“Have you talked to your grandparents recently?” Mizuki asks, looking up. Kaoru glances to the side, drumming his fingers on the table. 

“No,” he says, sheepishly. “We didn’t part on the best of terms.” When Mizuki shoots him a questioning look, Kaoru shrugs. “I didn’t hang around the best crowds.”

“Not much has changed,” Mizuki says, sagely. 

Kaoru stares. “I think you just insulted yourself.”

“Ah.”

They settle into a contented silence as their food arrives, and Kaoru glances at Mizuki as he takes a bite of his shaved ice. 

_ If I kissed you right now, would you hate it?  _ The thought comes unbidden, lingers there and digs insistently into the recesses of Kaoru’s mind. Mizuki dips his head, grabbing a napkin to wipe at the edges of his lips, before looking over at Kaoru.

“Is there something wrong?” Mizuki asks, curious.

“Huh? No – why?”

“You’re staring at me,” Mizuki says, blankly, and Kaoru flushes, quickly diverting his eyes.

“N-nothing’s wrong, sorry, I just, uh,” Kaoru stammers, leaning back and sliding further down in the chair. “Sorry.”

Mizuki raises his eyebrows but doesn’t comment. Kaoru spends the rest of the hour trying not to fixate on Mizuki’s lips as they close around his spoon, taking a sudden, desperate interest in the intricacy of the table’s wood staining. 

Maybe he’s a little obvious.

.

They hang out once or twice again after the other’s matches, casual things with more eating than talking. 

It’s enough, Kaoru tells himself.

It’s a little over two weeks after that when Mizuki texts him, inviting Kaoru over to his house after their next match. Kaoru gulps, trying to forget his dream and failing miserably. Still, it makes something warm curl in his chest – to be invited into Mizuki’s personal space seems like a gift, of some sort, an opening. 

It feels – vulnerable.

.

The minute Mizuki opens the door, Kaoru feels like something’s wrong.

He enters, taking off his shoes and stepping over the threshold, closing the door behind him. Mizuki stands to the side, deathly still. 

“What–” Kaoru manages to say, before Mizuki interrupts him.

“You’re an idiot,” Mizuki growls, moving steadily closer, like a predator approaching its prey. Kaoru gulps, backing up until his back is flush with the door behind him. 

“I, uh,” Kaoru says, intelligently. He throws panicked glances to both sides, looking for a way out, jumping a little when Mizuki slams an arm against the wall to the left, next to his head. 

“ _ Ooshiba _ had to tell me,” Mizuki says, and Kaoru’s eyes widen, suddenly terrified. 

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Kaoru bluffs, but his voice is shaky with fear.  _ That bastard – _

“Stop lying,” Mizuki says, irritated, grabbing the collar of Kaoru’s shirt. “I want to hear it from you.”

Kaoru considers running, considers forcing his way out of Mizuki’s grip and fleeing – but Mizuki gives him an unreadable look, and he forces himself to swallow, meeting his eyes. 

If he’s going to go down, he can at least do it with dignity. 

“I,” he says, hesitating, eyes flitting away. Mizuki’s gaze bores relentlessly into him. Kaoru takes a deep breath, eyes directed resolutely downward. 

“I’m – I’m in love with you. Damn it, Mizuki, why –” 

His voice dies in his throat when he looks back up at Mizuki’s face. It’s – almost pained, for a split second, before it resolves back into Mizuki’s usual stoic expression, though hints of it still flash in his eyes. 

“You,” Mizuki starts, before he sighs, the grip on Kaoru’s collar relaxing minutely  Mizuki looks away, and Kaoru lets his head rest back against the wall with a dull thud. 

“It makes things – awkward. I get it. Look, I’ll just – leave, it’s not a big deal –”

“Shut up,” Mizuki says, and that same pained expression flashes across his eyes. They stand there, Mizuki’s hand still clutching Kaoru’s shirt, for a beat, silence taut and tense between them, like a bowstring waiting to fire. 

_ Is he going to hit me or kiss me?  _

Kaoru’s not sure which one he’d take better.

“You’re an idiot,” Mizuki says again, but his tone is almost fond, and Kaoru’s about to protest when Mizuki turns and leans in, pressing their lips together. 

All thought grinds to a halt in Kaoru’s brain, and he barely musters up the willpower to move his hands from where they’re shoved uncomfortably in his pockets before Mizuki’s pulling away, sheepish. 

“You kissed me,” Kaoru says, blankly. 

“Yes,” Mizuki intones slowly, as if Kaoru is a child. 

“Why,” Kaoru starts, but the question dies on his lips as Mizuki groans in frustration, slamming a hand over Kaoru’s mouth. 

“I like you, too, dumbass,” Mizuki says, glaring daggers at him. His voice is unruffled and direct and Kaoru stares helplessly at him.  _ How can he say that with such a straight face? _

Mizuki shifts his hand, moving it off of Kaoru’s mouth and down to his jaw, his neck. Kaoru can barely breathe, and he tries not to say anything – but words flood out anyways, a nervous habit. He’s sure his voice is shaky, and he’s tempted to pinch himself, to confirm that this is real, that Mizuki is a solid warmth in front of him.

“Well, yeah, who wouldn’t like me? After all, I’m –”

“Shut up,” Mizuki says again, squeezing his eyes shut in irritation before kissing Kaoru again, soft and slow, and Kaoru melts into it, tentatively moving his hands to rest on the Mizuki’s hip, thumb slipping under the hem of his shirt to rub circles on his skin.  _ Was it ever this good when I imagined it? _

Mizuki pulls back to breathe, eventually, and there’s a faint flush to his cheeks. Kaoru can’t stop staring at it, grappling with the earth-shattering fact that Mizuki – Mizuki likes him, enough to kiss him and  _ blush _ after the fact. 

“You like me,” Kaoru repeats, and his voice comes out disbelieving, despite his best efforts. 

“Yeah,” Mizuki says, patiently. “Weren’t you listening?” He says it like it’s something mundane, like a comment about the weather, like it’s not something that’s just possibly stopped Kaoru’s lungs from functioning. 

“I –” Kaoru cuts himself off, lost for words. He can’t bring himself to put together the words floating in his head into coherent sentences, can’t vocalize his thoughts in a way that makes sense. 

_ I’ve been afraid to hope for this,  _ he thinks.  _ You’re more than I deserve. People don’t stay, not for me.  _ It’s close enough to what he wants to say, but it’s still not the whole truth, so instead he takes a slow breath before leaning in and kissing Mizuki the way he’s wanted to, trying to let his intentions shine through in his actions. 

Mizuki returns the kiss, pushing Kaoru against the wall and sliding his hand into Kaoru’s hair, and Kaoru is lost to it, feeling light-headed and dizzy. Mizuki trails kisses over his jaw, his cheek, his temple, and Kaoru wonders how much Mizuki’s understood about him. He wants so much he hurts – every touch that Mizuki presses against his skin sparks a dull ache, and he feels as if he’s played a long game, as if he’s tired and bruised all over.

Kaoru tips his head forward, resting his forehead against Mizuki’s, and they stay like that for a quiet moment, breathing and thinking and waiting. 

“So,” Kaoru murmurs. “Are we dating, then?”

“If you want to,” Mizuki says. “Yeah,”

“Okay,” Kaoru says, quietly, closing his eyes. “Yeah.”

Another beat passes before Kaoru leans back, still trying to process everything that’s happened. 

“You know,” Mizuki says, familiar irritation creeping back into his voice, “I’m still angry.”

“Why?”

“ _ Ooshiba _ , Indou. Of all people,” Mizuki grumbles, like a petulant child. 

“Sorry,” Kaoru says, but he can’t bring himself to be serious. There’s a sense of lightness in his chest, and he feels buoyant, as if he’ll float away the minute he takes a step. It’s a dangerous feeling, and he clamps down on it. Kaoru has never known when to let himself really, truly be happy, except when he’s on the pitch – he’s not sure where to start. 

“You think too much,” Mizuki says, after a while, studying him. 

“You should try it, sometime,” Kaoru shoots back without thinking. Mizuki gives him a look, but changes the subject.  

“Let’s get food.” His stomach growls faintly, as if to underscore his words. “I’m hungry.”

Mizuki grabs his wrist, pulling him towards the door. Kaoru follows.

  
  
  



End file.
